


the farces we desire

by PixiePaint



Series: Drarryland 2019 [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amortentia, Chocolates, Draco Malfoy Feels, Drarry, Drarryland 2019, Gifts, Harry potter feels, M/M, Metaphors, angsty, break-up fics, drarry angst, drarryland, ginny weasley - Freeform, hella angsty??, just a shitton of abstract concepts, just. pure. angst., literally 2k worth of metaphors, love potions, read if you want to smile and cry at the same time, vent fic, yeah uhhhh did i mention angst??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 17:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18124466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixiePaint/pseuds/PixiePaint
Summary: “There’s something different with you, Harry.”“Mm,” Harry lazily responded, pulling away to trace obscure marks onto Draco’s neck.“It must be the hair,” Draco continued, twisting a few chocolate locks into his palm, “I can touch it now without fearing that my boyfriend is secretly a ragged mop.”Hauling Draco closer with his unoccupied hand, Harry chuckled decadently and immersed his nose in Draco’s fine, albino hair. Their legs converged and undulated with disconcerting effort; miniscule tocsins caterwauled between their intertwined bodies that Draco couldn’t reach far enough to itch. He ghosted his breath over Harry’s neck, shallow and glazed, fervent with a vigor neither of them could attain.“‘Least my hair isn’t always tugged down by ten canisters of gel, you bloody git,” Harry murmured against the inviting hollows of his neck.





	the farces we desire

**Author's Note:**

> a huge, metaphorical and cyclical vent fic for drarryland 2019!
> 
> 2nd prompt: Potions (Angst)  
> One of them has a secret collection. The other finds it. A minimum of 243 words. Do not use the words 'yes', 'no', or 'maybe'.
> 
> lots of thanks to the wonderful beta [amelior8or](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelior8or/pseuds/Amelior8or)!!

The hazy sunlight sieved through Harry’s windows like a golden carousel, and Draco wreathed up the poster-bed columns like gossamer vines, only visible after the flight of dusk. The cobbled walls dipped outwards and then back in; the disoriented bookcases shimmered like opaque mirrors. They spun ‘round and ‘round, even cajoling the storage trunks into their cyclical machinations. Carmine carpet melted beneath Draco’s loafers; a fresh row of fantasies hid above the ceiling; the verdurous rug stretched its frayed edges closer.

 

Firewhisky embedded its spice into the veins of the walls, tempered solely by Draco’s delicate melon scent; the moon dipped into his eyes, and Harry couldn’t look away: just like it was meant to be. They stepped together, nearly stumbling over facetious niches, yet upright in the end. When Harry cupped Draco’s jaw with two fingers and whispered forgotten metaphors, the sunlight dipped through his teeth and an unquenchable lagoon whispered for _more_. Draco pushed their faces together and gave it to him.

 

There was a deferred warmth in the Gryffindor commons that slipped through invisible fissures in the stone tiles, wooden bed frames, coarse broom hairs, cold and guarded hearts… Draco nipped Harry’s top lip and shifted his hold into his vermilion hood. Harry murmured windchimes against his lips, pulling him closer into the--

 

“There’s something different with you, Harry.”  


“Mm,” Harry lazily responded, pulling away to trace obscure marks onto Draco’s neck.

 

“It must be the hair,” Draco continued, twisting a few chocolate locks into his palm, “I can touch it now without fearing that my boyfriend is secretly a ragged mop.”

 

Hauling Draco closer with his unoccupied hand, Harry chuckled decadently and immersed his nose in Draco’s fine, albino hair. Their legs converged and undulated with disconcerting effort; miniscule tocsins caterwauled between their intertwined bodies that Draco couldn’t reach far enough to itch. He ghosted his breath over Harry’s neck, shallow and glazed, fervent with a vigor neither of them could attain.

 

“‘Least my hair isn’t always tugged down by ten canisters of gel, you bloody git,” Harry murmured against the inviting hollows of his neck.

 

“Oh, I fear for the bloke that has to end up with you. The horrors of cleanliness and refined taste! Merlin, must I introduce you to the ingenious nature of toothbrushes as well?”

 

“I wasn’t raised in a barn!”

 

“Is that right?” He teased. A pyrrhic beat of reserve swathed them, too well-acquainted to be uncomfortable. Harry licked his lips at the connotations; he swept Draco up: away, away.

 

Their nocturnal footsteps swept them in rotation once more, and the dimming light convected through Harry’s lenses with a compassionate warmth Draco couldn’t stare directly at. He recoiled, dusting a forefinger across Harry’s glasses tentatively, though not in fear of their fragility. His cloak tugged backward, a negligible crack directing from its edges to its seams, invisible rifts soaking in passion from the belted constellations.

 

A murmur echoed through the walls, nearly inhuman, and Draco might’ve shuddered if he didn’t know better. A basilisk shredded his sewn badge; badgers prickled his temples; ravens encircled the scars tripping up his forearms; a lion devoured him, feet-first, and Draco granted the pleasures a fatalistic grin. His profile curved with heat, effectively buzzing the dormitory into a frenzy, and his limbs stretched out the span of arid, oasis-ridden deserts. Window panes crawled against the current of his spine, flashing cosmic heat he adulterated with semblances. Harry licked his lips and made a motion that Draco couldn’t quite comprehend-- something indescribable, a gesture that he had yet to grow accustomed to, something familiar--

 

His shoes’ pointed tips bumped a mahogany blockade: a briefcase-sized, rectangular chest that was slotted neatly between a basket of blank scrolls and a trunk of spare uniforms. The sharp lid fit directly into the bodice, encased by a golden lock, far too orderly to be in harmony with the unkempt decorations. It was dusted, shoved in the crevice as if--

 

“Draco, that’s--” Harry blurted, rays of summer-dusk shaking comfortingly-- happily, _even_. A distraught peace; too tidy.

 

“Alohamora,” whispered Draco, beaming a devilish smirk at Harry before popping open the rigid cogwheels, spreading his flush of cards without regards to their lack of royalty. The winnings were of no consequence; he wanted to see, to feel, to devour the fervor that threatened to plague them-- and he did. Its contents were nearly fulfilling.

 

Meticulous cursive scrawled its intentions brazenly across his forehead, boasting the incurably sweet aroma of chocolates, scribing each opened envelope and package with flushed pink stickers and hearts that all merely dimmed the room’s ambiance. Saccharine admirers poured out their diminutive souls into eight-by-ten sheets of thick paper, each sealed within a case of its own lovely creation. Lavender Brown; Romilda Vane; Parvati Patil; Mandy Brocklehurst; even Ginny Weasley had imprinted her name tenderly in deep red ink, finished off with a predictable flourish.

 

Dried daisy petals and bright ashwinder eggs winked blearily through the few spaces in the box, and the irony solidified the debacle; there was still _space,_ of course, because there would always be more gifts to come.

 

Harry inhaled sharply, quickly, almost as if he were surprised. Draco’s expression did not falter.

 

“Draco, baby, I pro--” Harry pleaded, strenuously crooking his mouth. Draco held up a silent hand.

 

“It’s-- Truly, Potter, it’s quite alright. I’m fine. There is no need to worry your messy little head over your secret collection. I understand, and I-- well, I fathom your motives quite duly,” Draco whispered, a strong edge wielding his tone. His eyes focused on the abstraction: a gentle permeation of recognizable names on each letter, familiar students, yet none of the signatures were his own.

 

Harry drove a hand into his curls, dragging it down across his face as if there were words he had yet to formulate, like gradually-withering lilypads drifting under his nose.

 

Draco traced a finger over a small tin of candied pumpkin seeds, following patterns that weren’t there (just as Harry had done to him). His fingernails scratched but left no mark.

 

“Not how I expected us to fiz-- Hmm, grudges aside, I just have a small remark on the irony: how is it that you were telling me about Romilda Vane’s grotesque attempt to poison you not even a week ago, yet the same chocolates are in this box? From your story, I would’ve assumed they were destroyed,” Draco enunciated slowly, eyes darting like those of a… Human. He pushed his finger down a little deeper, creasing the tin briefly before it popped back up. The sound squeezed the room tight, dragging the ceiling down lower, the windows inward, and the carpet trimmings up to their knees.

 

“Don’t do that-- _detach_ yourself. Draco, this isn’t about you, I promise. It’s just-- God, all of these people pour out their lives to me, confide in me, thank me for things that they view as hope… I can’t just throw it all away, you know? The love letters and fan letters are kind of who I am. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, honey, rea-- I didn’t want to hide it from you, but--”

 

“And Romilda?”

 

Harry bit his lip and tightened his grip in his hair, clenching his fingers as if a wand may lay there. They both knew that wasn’t a possibility, but he still…

 

Orion’s belt clasped and spun, buckling them underneath freedom, sweet and smooth and… Solid. Tangible, a cotton string connecting innumerable plights, faultless and sinking.

 

“Bit-- Bittersweet, you know? She tried to put me under a love spell forcefully, but it wasn’t intentionally a poisoning attempt! She made a mistake. I’ve made mistakes. If I punished her for being rash and trying to do the impossible, then what would that make of me? I don’t particularly fancy her, or entirely forgive her, but it’s just-- I can’t chuck it into the bin like trash,” pleaded Harry.

 

“Hmm, quite a challenge. And did you ever accidentally eat one of those chocolates, perhaps? Began to see her more as a lover than a crazed fanatic?”

 

“ _Draco_! I love _you_ , not any of the people who gave me these gifts! They’re strangers, it’s just the notion of their gifts that’s...”

 

“It’s--” Draco sighed, smiling softly, “It’s okay. Hardly a surprise.”

 

“I di-- I really didn’t mean to hurt y--”

 

“Tmm. I knew from the start you’d be tearing me apart sooner or later, and we both agreed-- We _agreed_. Our farce has likely-- it has come to an end, Potter, and…”

 

“This isn’t the end! Please, _please--_ ”

 

“Do _not_ pretend past our previous pretenses! It was-- you can’t just erase-- Tgh! Quite the paradox in our relationship, I suppose, a type that can’t last forever. I, a Slytherin hiding behind a lion, and _you_ , a lion’s coat pulled taut over snakeskin. Sometimes I thought… Irregardless, you told me about your experience with the sorting hat a while ago, and I must divulge that your story drew me closer into your slithering embrace. I’m surprised that you’re surprised. I think it was lovely while it lasted, Potter, our time spent-- and we had a wonderfully insipid time together. But it’s finished. It’s-- _please_. Don’t complicate it,” tempted Draco, smoothing out his imperceptible wrinkles.

 

“Nothing has to end if you work to save it,” insisted Harry, stepping closer slowly as if not to scare Draco away. The golden light twinkled stars upon his feet, fading into bite-sized constellations. Harry gulped them up like gasoline, a red flush tinting his neck delectably.

 

“Have we not done so already?”

 

“Draco.”

 

“You are impulsive, doubtlessly, but there’s also…” He vaguely motioned to Harry’s heart, “Trouble finds trouble, darling. You speak parseltongue even better than I.”

 

“This wasn’t… the most passionate relationship, I’ll give you that, but it was the most loving. You’re my world.”

 

“I’m your-- Potter. I’m your world, and you are mine, but I think there are other things… Even if we are so much to each other, the stars will always be there. I couldn’t deny you the exploration of the universe.”

 

“You’re my fucking _universe_!”

 

“Bloody hell-- Why did you ask me out then? Tell me, Merlin, just--”

 

“Because I loved you! Obviously!” Harry fired back, itching his scar.

 

“Bloody-- Exactly. We became friends _because_ we loved each other, and don’t you cling to that a bit too much? Just as I do? I think we were both looking for a reason to-- to--”

 

“I can’t ruin this. I won’t. Things have changed,” seethed Harry, a grimace settling in his defiant cheeks.

 

“Then don’t… Don’t say it, and _do_ it instead, because those are your two choices, aren’t they? Fine. We both know which one you’ll choose.”

 

“Dra--”

 

“A reason to hurt.” Draco shrugged, voice gentle and soft-- if not condescending-- but his tone free from animosity. Something akin to fate projected from his gaze, a resolved crown subsiding in his vision. His shoulders relaxed; his breathing tightened; the certain risk they had intended upon was now brought to fruition. His gambling dice rolled, and rolled, and stopped. The results didn’t matter. He was a snake; was not his entire life meant to be spent slithering and hissing, inciting and exploiting? He had caught a mouse, let the mouse commandeer, and now… they were both finished. As intended. Love was truly meaningless unless it was accompanied by intention and prospect.

 

Draco bestowed him with a final smile, pure and sincere, a quirk of the mouth happier than any expression he had worn during their relationship. Harry reached out to Draco, brows furrowed with a last attempt at tossing the dice a final time--

 

\--But Draco floated off, loafers barely collecting the meteors and bits of scraped gravity that clung to the ground, secretive box forgotten and Orion’s belt intact. Somewhere, a gaseous carousel spun, wounding tighter and closer and more intimately than even the stars’ unison; Draco smiled and drifted his hand along the faded-gold staircase, winking at the Fat Lady as he departed. Nebulas centered in his eyes, comet streaks highlighted his hair and starched away the gray, atmospheric rings of pressure rebounded in strolls of zest. Satisfaction spaded in meteor strikes; the comets were never fulfilled, but the craters sated their lust indefinitely. With each planet passed and each star surpassed, the rotations quickened; atoms hid in the farces of dust, and replications expanded the celestial infinity. Draco was of the stars; his parents had been sure of that. It wasn’t his choice.

 

When a predestined constellation and a golden sun converged, mythological heavens apparated and rejoiced: cider intermixed frequently; the deities drank; galaxies arose from love. And then they all burned. The swing of the nocturnal pendulum returned, bringing with it Draco’s star-crossed love.

 

Draco tapped on the Slytherin’s commons, dainty and pleased, a scarlet string imperceptibly bound around his ankle. His fingernails glinted under the moon’s likeliness, sharp and precarious, hanging by his sides; the red string remained. The symphony continued. The heavens smoldered.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! kudos/comments/concrit are all very appreciated!


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